three music tracks & two-track minds now one way, one story
by sakura aesthetic
Summary: It's the first Saturday of summer vacation which can mean only one thing: wild parties are in full swing. Knowing it's now or never, Lucy crashes her first party. All is to be expected of a high school rave—alcohol; sex; dancing—but she doesn't account for Natsu pinning her against a wall, lips just inches from hers. [next two chapters in progress]
1. anna sun — lucy

**.**

* * *

 **Anna Sun**

* * *

 _firecrackers in the east_

 _my car parked south_

 _your hands on my cheeks_

 _your shoulder in my mouth_

 _i was up against the wall on the west mezzanine_

 _we rattle this town, we rattle this scene_

— _walk the moon —_

* * *

It's the first Saturday of summer vacation which can mean only one thing: wild parties are _in_ —in full swing, that is. With beer bottles littering lawns, banderoles strewn between houses, and music blaring from every window, it's impossible to deny the fact that summer has indeed begun; high school is nothing but a distant memory, the four years a throwaway in Lucy's mind-eye the moment she crossed the stage and received her diploma. Graduation meant freedom, after all. And Lucy has been craving it since the start of term four years back.

As the blonde relishes the fresh air of unchartered territory—not at all swayed by the faint aroma of smoke or alcohol—she decides that yes, a party (her first party, mind you) would be a great start to what she envisioned as the best summer of her life. Slowly making her rounds up and down the street, she eventually spies a straggle of her friends in the road and veers toward it. She grins at the sight of them, plastic cups firmly held in their hands, knowing all too well that it had probably been Erza's idea to drink tonight.

"Levy-chan!" The bookworm pivots at the sound of her name, eyes wide and mouth gaping in surprise at her best friend, clearly taken aback by her sudden appearance. Lucy takes no offense; nobody expected her to show up tonight, let alone _ever_.

"Lu-chan!" She squeaks as Lucy barrels into her but makes no move in pushing her away. Instead, Levy returns the embrace. "I'm glad you came. Just… how on _earth_ did you fly this by your father?"

"Eh, graduating with a solid A in every class has some perks," she says sheepishly, shrugging to Levy, and then to Erza, who smiles and nods in approval.

"Indeed, I'm very proud of you, Lucy."

"Thanks, Erza," she beams. "I worked really hard this semester."

"You always work hard Lu-chan," Levy sighs, taking a swig of her drink. "Certainly more than me."

Lucy considers Levy's final transcript (which she had begrudgingly handed over to Erza the day before graduation). In short, the blonde wasn't shocked to discover that the bookworm had earned an A+ in every class. Knowing this, it makes it incredibly hard to believe Levy, but she doesn't argue. It wouldn't do her any favors to do so; Erza and Levy would have her head for it, for downplaying her momentous efforts to excel in her studies.

"We should toast to our success," Erza says, clearly thrilled for another excuse to drink. She eyes Lucy's empty hands with disdain, however, and the blonde shivers, having a remote idea of what she's going to say next. "Go grab a drink, Lucy. We'll wait for you."

Her intention to remain sober, Lucy knows, won't entertain Erza in the slightest, so she heads toward the nearest house welcoming party-goers (meaning, in short, any house on the block would do). As she hurries along the sidewalk, she feels the heated gaze of several boys, all of whom harmless classmates, but she doesn't indulge them or their flippant gestures (oh yes, she saw Dan Straight thrust his hips in her general direction). She focuses, instead, on the task at hand: appeasing Erza before the girl blows a gasket.

Upon entering a random house—one of which Lucy immediately considers too cramped and sweaty—she covers her ears, praying to Mavis that her brain doesn't burst at the sheer volume of _Anna Sun_. The walls are confining, too, at least a dozen of her classmates clustered around her, making navigation through the foyer damn near impossible. She shoves her way through the crowd, forgoing apologies as nobody can hear them anyway over the roaring music. This isn't what she expected tonight. This horde of drunken, sex-crazed teens, or heavy bass thumping in her chest, or pink-haired boy sprinting toward her, or said boy slamming into her, knocking her into a throng of kids playing _Spin-the-Bottle._

 _This guy's got some nerve, knocking me over and everything. And what's with his pink—_

— _pink hair._ _Oh._

Lucy's heart skids to a stop as she realizes who exactly is on top of her, then proceeds to blush at their compromising position: she, spread-eagle on the hardwood; Natsu Dragneel—best friend and childhood lifelong crush—splayed over her, pink hair askew, excitement etched into every feature of his face. _Beautiful_ , she thinks upon seeing his expression, _if only_.

"I hoped you'd show up, Luce! Gray said you were." Under his breath, Lucy catches something along the lines of _ice prick_ and _owe him five dollars_ ; she laughs at that. Not for long, though, as his calloused, baller hands grasp her wrists; a split-second later and the world is vertical again, Natsu helping her stand. Once upright, he gives her that ear-splitting grin, the one that always leaves her heart racing. "Surprised that you're here, but glad. Celebrating wouldn't be the same without you, Luce." He says it with nonchalance; the pink flush warming his face suggests anything but.

"Mm, I'm lucky I could come. Papa gave me permission."

Natsu growls at that. "You shouldn't need permission, Luce."

The blonde immediately regrets mentioning her father (it's a hard habit to break). Bringing the hard man up in conversation never sits well with Natsu, who, since meeting the man, has detested his very existence. It's not as though Lucy dislikes Natsu's overprotectiveness—she fully welcomes it every odd evening or so—but tonight, her father had been kind. She says this to Natsu, who blinks twice in disbelief, so she amends her statement to, "at least he was indifferent to the whole thing," earning her a gruff nod in return. At that, she knows the conversation is over, and she's thankful for it—the sudden quiet despite the howling music. She likes the stillness of everything, the way Natsu's thumbs are unconsciously rubbing soothing circles into her palms, the rivulets of lukewarm sweat rolling down his neck, a sheen so fine but all the same, visible, and Lucy is gobsmacked by just how much he's grown—compassionate, tender, and, daresay, beddable after so many years of friendship. Moments like these, with Lucy practically melting under Natsu's affectionate gaze, make it hard to forget just one simple and nonnegotiable fact: the boy in front of her is already taken.

"Natsu!"

 _Right on cue_ , Lucy curses, sighing in great disappointment as the peace dissolves around them. Without a second's notice, lithe piano fingers clasp Natsu's shoulder before finding home at his elbow. Lucy pries her attention away from the boy to the rapture that is Lisanna Strauss, her striking brilliance unmatched, white hair artfully curled to frame her face, baby blues wide and dazzling, sincere and hopeful. _Whole_ , Lucy laments, wondering how it must feel to know nothing of loss, of desperation, of war. Of fear, most especially.

It takes every bit of willpower Lucy possesses to feign indifference to the whole thing. "Hey, Lisanna," Lucy says, looking anywhere but at Natsu; one glance might be enough to do him in, a punch to the jaw well-within the realm of possible outcomes (he failed to mention that Lisanna was here before tackling her to the ground; therefore, it is justifiable to resort to violence if needed to keep her sanity). It all depends on how well Lucy can hold her tongue.

And she must, for the sake of Natsu, for the sake of Lisanna as well. Because deep down, Lucy can't fathom a single mean bone in the framework of Lisanna's body; thus, it is downright impossible to hate her.

"Lucy, you came! I thought you would, Gray said you were planning on it. Natsu didn't believe him, though." Lucy catches the playful smirk she sends Natsu, the notorious _I told you so_ look. "Figured this bag of marbles just didn't want to get his hopes up."

"Mm, that's because I normally let him down," Lucy says, shooting Natsu an apologetic expression. He doesn't return it with banter, as Lucy intended. Instead, she receives sympathy.

"You've never let me down, Luce." He says it with a pointed look, frowning slightly. "Not once."

"I agree with Natsu," Lisanna jumps on the bandwagon, leaning forward grasp Lucy's hands in hers, "you've just had a lot on your plate. And naturally, school comes first when you're a top-tier student. Natsu understands that. Right, Natsu?"

But Natsu isn't looking at Lucy. Apparently, the floor is far more interesting than this conversation—at least Lisanna interprets his avoidance of the question as such, which earns him a hard elbow to the ribs. Upon feeling the pent-up aggression rolling off Natsu in heat waves, however, Lucy recognizes his disinterest as an effort to control his anger.

"S'okay, Lisanna. Thanks for your support—it means a lot to me."

At this, Lisanna beams. "Of course, of course. No problem! I'm just relieved that Natsu's got friends that'll keep his head straight. I couldn't do calculus to save my life," the girl sighs but offers a sincere smile that leaves even the blonde breathless. "You're really amazing, Lucy. Thank you for taking care of Natsu all these years."

Lucy gulps, feeling guilty. Lisanna doesn't owe her anything; yet, she is expressing gratitude, her unnecessary thanks truly genuine. Knowing Lisanna, it probably is. Genuine, charming, humble—qualities that are no stranger to the girl whisking Natsu away to the dance floor, waving to Lucy as they part ways. If anyone's amazing, it's Lisanna. Always has been, always will be _her_ ; Lucy can't help but follow Natsu's head of unruly hair until it disappears into the crowd as she ponders this.

Shoulders sagging in relief, the blonde ambles over to the drink bar in search of something to take the edge off. Finding an abandoned keg and half-empty beer bottle is discouraging, to say the least, so Lucy opts for a glass of water, just needing some liquid-cool to quench her thirst. Even bone-dry, her bloodstream clean and alcohol-free, the smell of sweat, vomit, and arousal in the room ignites a tension headache, the dull pressure making it hard to stand. Screwing her eyes closed, she does everything in her power to shut out the delirious party-goers, the obscene music, and the nagging voice at the back of her mind, which constantly reminds her of the boy she loves and how he's dancing with somebody else.

"Hey, pretty girl." There is a hand on her arm then, the pressure enough to scare her—Lucy flinching at the contact—but soft enough to understand the stranger means no harm.

Lucy whirls around at the unexpected touch, standing eye-to-chest with a boy openly checking her out. Even standing at a height ten inches or so beneath him, she can tell he's buzzed. It's hard to miss the stench of booze seeping from his mouth, and she immediately recognizes it as hard whiskey—the expensive kind, too. With the headache and whatever died inside his mouth (his liver, really) kicking her nausea into overdrive, she steels herself to put on a brave face.

"Can I help you?" she asks impatiently, catching sight of Natsu from the dance floor, body pressed tight against Lisanna, obviously preoccupied. Out of nervous habit, Lucy tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. The strand instantly slips free, disrupting her focus on the task at hand: getting rid of this guy.

"You know," the boy whispers, his hand reaching for the loose strand and tucking it back once more, "there's no need to be so shy." When pulling away, his thumb ghosts over her temple and remains, planting itself near her cheekbone. Lucy shivers but doesn't reject his touch. For whatever reason, she doesn't have the heart to do so; she notices, out of the corner of her eye, Natsu glancing between her and the stranger, his incredulous expression demanding to know whether she needs saving or not. Her gut instinct screams for her to push this boy away, to run to Natsu, but Lucy holds her ground.

She doesn't need saving this time. She can take care of herself. And right now, though this boy is some random classmate of hers, she can't deny it—the gentle caresses to her cheek feel good, her stomach somersaulting with reckless abandon in anticipation.

"It's not like I'm intentionally being shy," Lucy mutters, growing lost in the sensation of needy hands against her skin, his _want_ evident in the way he suddenly, but carefully, grips her chin.

She lets him do it, lets him have his way because if not him, then who? Holding onto a boy who doesn't love her is certainly more painful than letting him go, and at the end of the day—after having so many days spent watching them walk to class hand-in-hand, Natsu pressing kisses to the crown of another girl's head—what's the point in holding on? It only accomplishes one thing: worry, Natsu _worrying_ about her, which is the last thing Lucy wants. So why put herself through the torture? Just put herself out of this misery and let any guy take her. It'll be easier, far less painless, to give-in, to give-up, to just _give_ pieces of herself away until nothing remains. Until Natsu can't _take_ anymore—her heart, her soul. In a sick, twisted way, this is revenge, Lucy realizes, but she swallows the guilt and focuses on the boy clearly making a move.

"Actually, I don't mind it," he murmurs in reply, craning his neck down to whisper in her ear, "it's such a turn on to see you blush."

His lips are pressed to her neck then, the anticipation in the pit of her stomach bursting like a stick of dynamite. Lucy forces her eyes shut, resisting the urge to push the hulking boy away. It's hard to shove down the fear, however, when wedged between a counter and two hundred pounds of pure muscle. Even with knowledge on practical defenses, she becomes acutely aware that a knee to the groin will do nothing to stop his quick advance. It's either fight and be beat, or give-in, like she had originally planned.

Lucy decides she'll have to worry about hiding the hickies from her father tomorrow. Better hickies than more bruises and bloody lips.

Wordlessly, Lucy opens her body to the boy, who, upon feeling her (trembling) hands palm his arousal, growls. He, like her, opens up more, allowing his hands to wander and hook around her thighs, hoisting the blonde to wrap around his waist—Lucy complies and does her best to make a show of enjoying this, moaning into his mouth as they climb the stairs two at a time. The next thing she knows, her back is slamming into a door; three seconds later and the boy is fumbling for the knob, grinding against her all the while, taking pleasure in her pained whimpers deriving from stiff wood against soft skin. It takes a minute or two, but the boy finally has the decency (and brains) to withhold his tongue from her panting mouth, long enough to wrench the door open. He resumes the messy kisses and carries her to, what Lucy prays to be, a bed before dropping her. She winces at the springs recoiling against her weight, but the refractory period in which Lucy recovers from the fall is too short; before she can so much as gasp, the boy is pushing her down, pinning her to the mattress. It suddenly becomes too hot, too cramped, and a similar sensation of sick washes over Lucy, the blonde weakly pushing against the mountain over her.

"I wanna fuck you senseless," the boy groans as he bites her neck, sloppy kisses sloping from shoulder to collarbone, collarbone to chest; he impatiently rips open her shirt and takes a pebbled nipple full in the mouth, suckling her like a piglet would its mother's teats. He kneads her breasts like dough—rough—as he positions himself above her, sweaty hands unzipping her shorts and peeling them off her legs. And then: something hard, something throbbing against her. It feels disgusting—to be manhandled, to be taken when clearly unwilling (Lucy has long-since stopped pretending to enjoy this treatment, her feet kicking out and her expression pleading _stop, I don't want this_ ). Even in the darkness of the room, she can see the outline of the animal over her, his rigid length pulsing for attention, and Lucy knows what he wants: to present a hole for fucking, whether it's her mouth or the orifice down south. Both ideas make her gag, which she does so wholeheartedly, only earning her, unfortunately, a slap in the face before being told to "suck."

He asks twice more, both times rejected, before admitting defeat and, "screw it, I'll take you here instead." There's pressure then, down where touch is unknown and unwelcome. As his hand gropes her, she feels herself go numb. She closes her eyes, silently accepting her fate. She waits to be split into two.

"What the _fuck_ are you doing?"

Eyes fluttering open, Lucy is met with chaos.

The room is flickering electric blue and red; sirens are screaming into the night; the bedroom door is swung open, revealing a stampede of teens tripping down the hallway— _the cops_ , Lucy swallows thickly. But it isn't the police that have her pulse shooting through the roof; instead, her eyes are locked on Natsu.

"N-Natsu?" she whispers in shock.

Lucy barely recognizes him: molten-hot, onyx eyes now sharp as daggers, easygoing smile twisted into scorn, his calloused hands clenched into fists. He's pissed. And for once in her life, Lucy is terrified of him.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" It's the second time he's asked that question. For a second, she thinks Natsu is asking her, but judging by how quietly the boy above her is, and how he's slowly, but surely, crawling off her paralyzed body, she knows better. Natsu, however, seems to have lost every thread of patience because, before she can process the scene, the boy is sputtering for help, Natsu's vice-like grip constricting around his neck.

"Natsu, stop it!" she cries.

"You filthy fuck! You so much as touch her, and I kill you!" he roars.

In slow motion, Lucy watches knuckles collide with jaw, crimson blood staining the bedroom wall. There, in the small confines of the bedroom, is the horrible sound of bones crunching under the blunt force of fists, and Lucy knows it's a one-sided fight, knows that Natsu is responsible for all of the breaking. But she can't bring herself to stop him. She can't bring herself to even watch, for the arrival of more police cars out the window is at the forefront of her mind, the image of handcuffs binding her wrists now the nightmare, and not the boy crucified to the wall.

"Natsu," she whispers.

Another blow to the face.

"Natsu."

A right hook to the stomach.

"Natsu!" At the sound of his name, Natsu whirls around and scrutinizes her, eyes unfocused as if he's only just noticed her presence. Upon having his complete and undivided attention, however, Lucy realizes she's crying. Panicked, the blonde tries to come to her senses, but to no avail, only succeeds in crying harder. It doesn't take a genius to know the footfalls fast approaching belong to Natsu; yet, it shocks her nonetheless when strong arms squeeze her, the warmth that radiates from his sun-kissed skin effectively calming her down. He holds her like this for a few seconds, saying nothing, letting her vent until her wails subside to mere hiccups; he releases her then and hurries to shrug off his vest, looping it around her shoulders so it hangs too-many sizes too-large.

"Lucy," he says, authority in his voice, but eyes soft. "We have to go, and now." Grabbing her hand, he pulls the blonde to unsteady feet, gives her a moment to gather her bearings, and then they're off. As they round the corner and merge with the hallway traffic, he yells back to her, "the cops are about to break up this party like a piñata!"

Lucy laughs at that, grateful the Natsu she recognizes is back.

Although, now is hardly the time to be thinking about such things—the fact that carefree Natsu has returned at full crescendo, or the fact that Natsu is still holding her hand.

Apparently, she's not the only one who's noticed; other people in the halfway are gawking, too. She blushes, feeling the heat against her cheeks, across her chest, and—

"Mavis! Why?" she shrieks, flushing deeper red when, glancing downward, she finds herself clad in her bra and panties. Makes sense, now, why Natsu had lent her his vest.

Why, today of all days, did she choose to wear her white thong?

She's near purple from holding her breath in embarrassment, when she remembers why: because Natsu was going to be at this party. _Not that it would make much of a difference_ , she internally groans, _with Lisanna here and all._

Speaking of which, where is the girl? Shouldn't Natsu be double- and triple-checking to ensure Lisanna's escape from the police without a hitch? Shouldn't he be racing down the halls holding _her_ hand instead of Lucy's?

This whole situation only makes Lucy feel more guilty. Not only did he abandon his own girlfriend for Lucy, but he's also risking damn incarceration for underage drinking, for assault and battery, betting against the odds of getting caught. Why is he such an idiot? Why does she so readily accept his reckless tendencies as tactics used for a rescue mission?

"We aren't gonna make it, Luce," he growls when the crowd becomes more condensed.

Up ahead, she glimpses a dozen or so teenagers climbing through an open window. It's a common method of escape—she knows this from listening in on Erza's wild weekend tales told during lunch. Reminded of Erza, Lucy prays the redhead and Levy made it out okay. She prays she'll see them again, after this whole fiasco is over, perhaps. _If we get out._ At this thought, the blonde dissociates from the mayhem, her internal systems compromised and shutting down, wishing she were home. Wishing she were in bed, book nestled in her lap, and the damp of tea on her lips. Because right now, the last thing she wants to do is jump from the balcony and nag a pair of handcuffs for herself. She doesn't want to wake up tomorrow with her naked ass plastered across the front page, her photos under a bolded headline: _Heartfilia Heir Exposed—Literally_.

"I can't." It comes out as a whisper; Natsu is too preoccupied with warding off perverted glances at Lucy to notice. She tries again, this time clearing her throat before croaking, "Natsu, I can't do it." He turns to her then, concern clouding his expression, to which she repeats, "I just can't."

"What can't you do, Luce?" he asks patiently, although the rigidity of his muscles suggests anything but.

She frowns, not wanting to disappoint him any more than she already has. Except he's looking at her so intensely, likely trying to guess what's wrong, or better yet, attempting to read her mind; she eventually concedes. "Jump. I can't jump."

Natsu stares, bemused at her, but peers over the immense crowd for a moment before turning back to her, nodding. He understands.

"We gotta hide then."

Without further hesitation, he grips her hand with more pressure than before and yanks her through the crowd. She feels the thundering of his pulse between her fingers, his blood rushing like bravado as they wind their way through the sweaty mess of teens. As they run, Lucy on Natsu's heels, there is a loud metallic click before the lights flicker out, blanketing the hallway in pitch black.

"Shit, they cut the power!" Natsu curses. Completely blind, Lucy fumbles to better fit her hand in Natsu's; the notion of being separated from him now is unbearable, while entirely likely, the massive huddle of teens now bolting for the window like their lives depend on it. Lucy and Natsu force their way to the sidelines, backs pressed flat against the wall to avoid being swept away.

"There's more of 'em upstairs!"

Lucy's eyes double in diameter, the fear of getting caught increasing tenfold—the police are coming, with lights waving wildly along the staircase corridor.

"They've got flashlights," Natsu growls, hand tightening instinctively around Lucy's. "Like predators hunting for blind prey."

"We're gonna get caught," Lucy whispers, lips quivering.

What's worse than getting caught after jumping from a window? Getting caught with a boy—naked.

"No, we're not." Natsu says it firmly, waves of confidence rippling off him; Lucy is inclined to believe him.

As the footsteps grow louder, walkie-talkies buzzing with static, she searches for his face in the darkness and finally, watches him nod toward the nearest open door—a clear indication that he's found their hiding place. She hurries inside, Natsu close behind her before quietly pulling the door shut. His signature scarf is just out of sight before the first flashlight shines down the hallway.

"Check every room—we don't wanna miss any of 'em."

The leading officer barks a few more orders, earning him a resounding grunt in agreement. Her pulse skyrockets again as the footsteps fall heavier, white light seeping into the room from under the door.

"We've gotta find another hiding place," she breathes, Natsu crouched in front of her.

"You're right," he mutters. With moonlight filtering in through the blinds, she traces the faint outline of Natsu in the dark and processes his index finger pointing to the closet. He mouths the word _go_.

She doesn't wait a second longer. Scurrying to the double doors, she turns the knob, but freezes, blood whooshing past her ears, as the hinges squeak. The teens sit absolutely still for a few seconds, waiting to be discovered, but the bedroom door stays stupidly shut; Natsu is the first to release his breath, which signals Lucy to keep going. She scrunches her eyebrows together, praying to Mavis this old trick will lessen the whine of the door. With concentration, she works to wedge her fingers between the doorframe and its hinges. The wood pinches her fingers but miraculously, much to Lucy's relief, stays quiet. As the narrow closet comes into view, she motions for Natsu to get inside. Seconds later, and she's inside, too, tugging the door shut so they're bathed in darkness once again.

Seconds later and the police barge into the room, lights spiraling around the walls as they look for any hiders. Their walkie-talkies are humming, bleeping with voices from other locations in the house; the sound does nothing to drown out the heavy footsteps running down the hall. Lucy can't help but wince at the shrieks of her fellow classmates right down the corridor. That could've been her. That could've been Natsu.

Despite the bedroom currently swarmed with cops, her attention is elsewhere. _He is way too close_ , she thinks as Natsu's hair tickles her nose, his body practically pressing her against the wall. She keeps her eyes on his face, knowing that if she looks even a fraction of an inch down, she'll come face-to-face with his tanned chest. Of course, he _had_ to wear his vest tonight. Just like she _had_ to wear her scanty thong. Not that angling her head upward helps in any way, shape, or form; his warm breath feels like heaven fanning across her lips. The urge to kiss him right now is tremendous.

"Check under the bed!"

Lucy's chest constricts as the anxiety finds its way back to her. They are definitely going to get caught.

She gulps in a lungful of air; it smells like Natsu, like cinnamon. Unable to help herself, she inhales again, this time more deeply; he smells of campfire and bourbon—an odd, but pleasant combination. On the brink of inspiring once more, this time deeper than the last, her brain short-circuits at the shock of her breasts brushing against Natsu's toned chest. Her panicked breath resonates with his breathy sigh; she hears him swallow at the brief contact, body shivering at the heat, the electricity. Lucy expects contempt from Natsu, but instead, finds his gaze half-lidded and dark. One measured look at him and Lucy knows it's not the alcohol that's talking.

"Quick! Check the closet!"

Lucy inhales sharply, hearing the floorboards rattle as the cops approach their hiding place. Definitely caught.

Just when she's about to admit defeat, Natsu presses himself completely against her, his body pinning hers to the wall. She feels his warm breath against her neck, his lips achingly close, just inches from her skin. With minimal clothing, she can feel every dip in his body, every crevice of his build. From his chest to his groin. Nothing in the world can hide his arousal; at the sensation of Natsu hard against her, Lucy does her best to remain indifferent, does her best to avoid Natsu's expression, but Natsu is pulsing hot and heavy against her, making it hard to concentrate on anything else. With heart in throat, she swallows thickly and chances a glance at Natsu, who, surprisingly, has his eyes screwed shut, mouth opening and closing as though he's speaking. And she realizes: he's counting. _7… 8… 9._ She recognizes his old habit at once; this attempt to keep her safe—flattening them both to blend in with the rack of clothes—is the last ace up his sleeve. He's counting because, if found, he won't be able to protect her anymore. He's counting because she told him to, once, many years ago. To count when he's angry, when he wants to hurt someone. He's counting because, unlike the boy from earlier, assaulting a police officer will get him nowhere, and if they end up being found, Natsu can't punch his way out of this one, can't save her this time. He's counting because he promised her, all those years ago, that he would never sacrifice himself, even for her sake—it was a pinky promise.

As the closet door creaks open, Lucy holds her breath and waits for the handcuffs. The arrest. The probation. The consequences, once having returned home, at the hand of her father. Just as the panic threatens to wreak havoc on her body, she becomes aware of something soft nudging her hand open, something warm clasping it with an iron-grip; Natsu's fingers intertwine with hers.

x

"Squad 52, come in! Squad 52, come in!"

Someone picks up and answers the walkie-talkie.

"What's the problem?"

"We need backup at the house on Maple Street. Drug bust."

"On our way."

x

Lucy doesn't know how long they stand there.

It could have been seconds, minutes, or hours.

Only one thing, Lucy knows, is absolute: Natsu's hand is still holding hers.

"I think they're gone." Natsu's voice is muffled against the juncture between her shoulder and neck, his breath so warm it leaves Lucy's nerves on fire, her skin tingling. "I think it's safe."

But Lucy doesn't feel safe, not when standing so close to Natsu, so dangerously near the furnace that has her on the grips of reality; she doesn't trust her self-control right now. How can she, with her body pressed against heat, head foggy and full of cinnamon, full of Natsu? Her two-track mind can only process _him_ , common sense evaporating with just his half-lidded gaze, the bad habit of wetting his lips getting the better of him, of her, and Lucy fights for clarity, for rationale, but Mavis, Natsu is looking. He is _looking_. And Lucy is collapsing under the weight of him, her composure fracturing at the sight of Natsu worrying his lips, eyebrows slowly knitting together, upon seeing Lucy break apart in his hands. She wants to gather herself in her arms and cave-in; Natsu beats her to it, catching her shaking form as the ground comes up from underneath. He holds her then, whispering sweet nothings as the police cars roll onto the pavement and blare their sirens, the piercing scream distancing itself from the deserted house—all but two people—boy and girl, girl so in love with boy her heart is physically ripping apart—remain, crouched in a closet Lucy considers safe. Doors are safe. Walls are safe. Barriers, of any sort, are safe. And Natsu, fucking Natsu, her best friend and lifelong crush, is cradling her, rocking her, and Lucy lets him as much as it pains her to let him. Because impenetrable defenses are miracles, and Natsu is just a variation of this safe-keeping: her security blanket. And Lucy, with the room snapping back into focus, wonders if that's all he is—safe. If all _they_ ever _were_ —a safety precaution. If Lucy loves Natsu for Natsu, wants to be with Natsu because, well, because _love_ , or if she wants to be with Natsu because he can never hurt her. Love: a two-way street, and there are no turnarounds. One can only ride out the whole journey for there are no exit love letters, and Lucy wonders if she can hold on long enough to see it through, or if, when she's finally out-of-bounds, out-of-reach from familiar (familial) danger, she'll want off the road. _Off_ , _off_ , _off_. It occurs to her then, why she has never confessed to Natsu in all their years together. Not because she's afraid of his answer—no, deep down, platonic or romantic, Natsu loves her. It's a question of whether _Lucy_ loves _Natsu_ , or if she loves—can love. Can she love him? Can she, or is the road ahead too long, too windy? Too unpredictable? Lucy doesn't know. She sure as hell is scared to know, and Natsu is kissing her forehead now, coaxing more tears from swollen doe-brown eyes, and Lucy just wants him to stop being so damn kind so she can think, but doesn't have the strength to say it. She doesn't have the strength to relinquish even the slightest tremor of affection given to her; it is an absolute luxury to be comforted, but one she cannot afford for long. Love, Lucy has come to understand, is never free; it is earned. And Natsu, too good for her, too good as he gives too much, deserves more than shaking girl, should be preserving brave girl. But Lucy isn't either of those things; she never has been, and never will be. She will never love him like honey on toast, like lavender healing exit wounds, like morning kisses every sunrise; she will never love anything as much as his arms and the safety they provide—it isn't fair to him. To use him isn't fair, to hurt him isn't fair; Lucy won't stand for it.

"Why the long face?" he asks quietly, thumbs wiping salt-saturated tears. Lucy feels like choking upon seeing his expression—torn, worried. The stillness of the atmosphere must unnerve him; he murmurs, to soften the sudden stiffness, "you can tell me anything. I don't bite."

Lucy bites her tongue, knowing full-well what she wants to say, what she _needs_ to say. She has a feeling Natsu isn't going to like it, not one bit, so she takes a deep, harrowing breath, screws her eyes closed, and then, with control, exhales—all the pain, all the stress. It leaves her, just like she hoped. She's the one counting to ten now, mainly to regain proper thought tactics, but also because she wants Natsu to recognize that yes, this is hard for her. That yes, it is going to hurt. It's a testament to his patience when Lucy continues counting quietly under her breath and Natsu does nothing but sit and wait; she is grateful for that—it'll make it easier if she doesn't have to interrupt him.

"Natsu," she whispers, her voice cracking because, on the cusp of her truth, she succumbs to her own desire _to know_ and switches their roles of ask-and-answer before processing it. Instead of revealing her doubts, or risking vulnerability, she asks him, tone serious, "why did you choose me?"

He blinks once, then twice, before cocking his head in confusion. "Choose you?"

"Mm, choose me. You found me in that room, with that boy," Lucy says slowly, making clear-cut eye-contact with Natsu so he knows to behave at the mention of the other boy. "You dragged me through that hallway while looking for potential escape routes. You indulged my ridiculous request to stay here rather than run for it. You chose me so many times tonight—you chose me over Lisanna, over logic, over saving your own skin. I don't remember telling you to do any of those things, and while I'm grateful for all of that, for you, you shouldn't have chosen me." Lucy drops the sharp edges to her voice upon seeing Natsu pull away as though ashamed. Lucy knows she's getting to him and should keep attacking him to get answers, but she can't bring herself to do it. She settles with her original plan of action: "You shouldn't have chosen me, Natsu. I don't deserve to even _be_ a choice." Lucy adds quietly, "I shouldn't be a decision that will keep you from things, that will put you in danger, or at risk. You could have been arrested tonight, Natsu. And tonight isn't even the worst of it—that one time, I thought Papa was going to—"

"I wouldn't care if I bled to death so long as you were safe, Luce," Natsu snaps. "And you are, and always will be, a choice I have to factor in, whether you like it not. You're kinda my best friend, and losing you—I don't even wanna think about it."

"But I'm not the only one you have to think about, Natsu!" Before she can stop herself, trembling fists pound into his chest, catching him off-guard but not enough to sway him. "You have to think about Lisanna, about yourself, about your future, about—"

"I don't give a damn about my future, especially if my future means a life without you."

Lucy ignores the confession (albeit how difficult it is to brush it aside) and fires back, "you can't spend the rest of your life worrying about me, or protecting me! There are things nobody can prevent, not even you. I'm bound to get hurt, I'm bound to hurt _you_!" Lucy shrieks, this time, pushing him away with all her might. She succeeds, but only for a moment, as Natsu's reflexes capture her in a warm embrace despite the relentless fighting, the reckless urge to hit something, to hit _him_. "Don't you understand, Natsu? I can't do this. I can't _be_ this. I can't—I can't love like you can. I'm never going to get past hiding behind my books, or distancing myself from achieving perfect scores, or fucking find the nerve to defend myself. I just use you—over and over and over again, and it isn't fair! It isn't fair!" Natsu is embracing her so fiercely, so tightly, Lucy thinks she may suffocate; it doesn't cease her tears, or her words. "You deserve better than this, than me. I only take, take, and take from you and never give _anything_ in return. How is that okay? How are you supposed to live if all you ever do is worry about me, or ward off any prevailing danger? Do you intend to spend the rest of your life keeping Death at bay? You can't protect me forever, Natsu, try as you might, and choosing me every time isn't going to do a damn thing about it. Choosing me every time isn't a life worth living."

She ignores the nagging thought screaming _melodramatic_ , _melodramatic as fuck_ , and wrestles Natsu to the floor; the seconds tick by and eventually, Lucy is straddling his hips, pinning him down so he can't move, can't _do_ anything but watch as things fall apart. And that's what Lucy does: fall apart. "I'm not worth a goddamn thing!"

"That's your father talking, Luce." Natsu is beneath her, struggling to keep his emotions in-check; Lucy can tell from the crumpling of his chin, the tears welling in his eyes. "You don't mean that. You know you don't. I don't need to tell you you're worth something—worth _everything_ to me. You already know that, Luce. _You_ already _know_ that!"

"Natsu, I—"

"You already know it, Luce. Deep down, you do. After all these years, you've stuck around. You've survived everything, even when things got really bad. You're not broken, Luce, no matter how much you tell yourself you are. You don't need me, or anyone else to tell you that. Why do you think books are your safe haven? Why do you study hard even when the material comes as easily as the sun rises? Why do you fight me whenever I step in and try to save you? Because you know how to defend yourself, and these things—that's all they are: things, traits, tendencies—are just mechanisms to keep yourself going. To keep yourself sane. You have never given up. You know your limitations and have found ways to get around them.

"You fight with everything you've got to stay standing," he lowers his voice to a whisper, his onyx eyes blazing; Lucy feels the adoration behind their heat. "You already know this, Luce—I'm just reminding you of one simple fact: you're strong. You're the strongest person I've ever met." He smiles a little then, and takes advantage of her awe-induced stillness to gather her into his arms, chuckling—Lucy's favorite sound in the whole damn universe—before murmuring, "And I love you for it."

Lucy can't breathe. Natsu kisses her, granting her a breathful of cinnamon. Her lungs are screaming for oxygen and Natsu takes her heavy gulps with earnest, stealing back the compression of sweet-scented air he'd just sent by lips wet with salt. It quickly becomes a game of passing and sprinting, Lucy's heart thundering as loud as the sky cracking open, rain like egg yolk pouring into mixing bowl, and every thread of emotion inside Lucy's chest is unraveling, knotting into seams and reams of story leave the faraway, cluttered desk of her memories. In all her eighteen years, Lucy has never known happiness as deep and beautiful as this, as Natsu. And suddenly, love— _loving_ —doesn't sound so impossible, not with Natsu holding her, kissing her, accepting her, and breathing life back into a walking skeleton. There are many in her closet—many skeletons he has yet to find, yet to face—but with his large calloused hands gripping her arms (hard enough for indentation, but never bruises) and his onyx eyes wide open and gazing at her as though she's whole and not an invention of brokenness, Lucy is hit with something akin to light, but not quite. It's more of a feeling than anything else, but it's foreign, it's tangible, it's—

"Hope, Luce." Natsu is beaming at her with the wattage of a million light bulbs. For some inexplicable reason, Lucy doesn't blink or look away—she stares into the sun dead-on. "It's hope."

Lucy smiles at that, palm coming to rest at his jaw before cupping it, before sealing her gentle touch with a slight kiss to the corner of his mouth. It's unfathomable to her—how he just _is_ —and says what she's been wanting to say all night long, says it within the walls of their closet so her words can echo. "It's beautiful."

* * *

 **A/N—** Hey everyone! So yeah, a lot of people have been reading this recently and I decided to reread it myself and found it, to put it nicely, _lacking_ in a _lot_ of areas. I decided to fix it up a bit, mainly focusing on the grammatical issues because those irked me the most, but the more I revised, the more I got roped into the story and decided to change things up a bit. By doing so, I added plot points that will be later discussed in Lisanna's chapter, and further expanded upon in Natsu's. For those of you who have read the original of this story, I wanted to apologize for deleting the slight smut scene at the end—I know, it's annoying—but don't worry, I'll try my best to add it back in toward the end of Natsu's chapter. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed this story and follow it for further updates. Also, just an FYI, but I'm going to release an author's note momentarily so old readers know to read the new version, and also to give a general heads-up on where this story is going. Let me know what you think in a review or a PM; I appreciate the feedback.


	2. author's note

**A/N—**

Hey readers! So I know how annoying A/N notification emails can be, but I just wanted to give you some good news: _anna sun_ has been updated and will be continued. The title of the story has changed, along with a few other plot points, but overall, it will generally follow the same storyline as before.

I know it's been awhile since you guys have read this story, so if you aren't interested in rereading, then disregard this email. For those of you who are interested, I have just posted a revised version of _anna sun_ which will, I'm happy to say, pave the way for two more chapters. Essentially, this three-part story will serve as a medium to retell the same night from three different perspectives: Lucy's, Lisanna's, and Natsu's respectively, and in that order. I won't be sharing the song names for the other two chapters (as I want it to be a surprise) but know that WALK THE MOON is currently my favorite artist, so all chapters will be named after a song performed by them.

Also, I'm not entirely sure when the second chapter will be released yet (as I have been working on Natsu's chapter instead), but know that it's summer vacation; therefore, I have a lot of time on my hands, so fingers-crossed, maybe within the next month or so (I write faster when I have support *hint hint **please review** hint hint*)

If you guys are interested, know that I have another NaLu one-shot on this account that serves as a foil for Natsu's chapter, but told through Lucy's perspective. It's relatively short, and it definitely wasn't written in convergence with this story, but I like to think that it bears a striking resemblance to the themes of this story; thus, I thought it would be nice to read if looking for slight universe alterations. Just don't think for a second that it will be anything like the aftermath in chapter three.

Alright, I don't want to add any more to my word count than I already have. I hope you enjoy _anna sun_ 2.0 and decide to stick around for Lisanna's and Natsu's stories—they have a version they want to tell, too.

Much love—sakura aesthetic


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